Arcanum 4: Almost a Memory
by Designation
Summary: A good soldier never leaves a man behind... but they weren't soldiers in here. They were family. 4th fic in the Arcanum series, but can stand alone. Complete.
1. Soldiers

_**Arcanum:**_

**Almost a Memory**

**by**

**Kel**

**Disclaimer:** I don't presume to own Dark Angel or any of it's characters. I gain no profit from this fiction, other than pride and joy and hopefully reviews. Oh yeah, X5-213 is mine.

****Many thanks go out to my friend Sorrow, without whom this fic wouldn't exist. She suggested a flashback story for the series, and even started me off on the idea for it. Most importantly, she put up with my babble! You're the best, dude. ;)****

**Author's Note: **This is the fourth fic in the _Arcanum _series. While it is not necessary to read the other fics in the series to understand this one, you may wish to. This fic is a sort of flashback that explains the connection between X5-452 and X5-213, which is pretty much the basis for the entire series. It is meant to follow the other fics. The other fics, in order, are: _Interloper, Something Else That Didn't Fit, _and _Catalyst._

This fic takes place just before the escape.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 1: Soldiers**

**Manticore, February 2009**

X5-452, known to her unit as Max, sat huddled in the corner of the cold room, with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head leaning against the brick wall. It had been days since she had seen her unit; her brothers and sisters.

The X5's hadn't been trained to feel self-doubt. They simply had to know their flaws and improve them without being caught off-guard. That was all. But this had been her fault, and she wished that she could take it back.

It wasn't a big deal, really. She had gone longer than these four days in isolation before, but like all times, she missed her family.

Krit would have helped her; she knew he would have. He had tried. But he had come in last in the obstacle course the last two times, and she knew that if he had been caught with her or instead of her, he would be in for worse than this.

Their mission had been pretty straightforward. It was a simple training exercise; go out in the woods, find all the markers, and don't get caught. By the enemy soldiers, or by the traps that had been set out for them. Without their knowledge.

She had been so stupid! All it would have taken to avoid this whole mess was a little bit of attention. She had looked ahead, seeing Krit duck behind a tree, and she had stepped in a bear trap. An X5 in a bear trap! It was just so _absurd._

As the metal teeth had bitten into her leg, Krit had turned to help her. But the enemy had been too close, so she had sent him away.

And now here she was, down in the basement of Manticore, hearing the screams of the 'nomlies. Her leg had healed, but she was still alone, afraid and miserable.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. Max rose to her feet. What was going on?

Two officers came into view, stopping in front of her cell. They were dragging a boy between them. Max frowned. _What the hell?_

"Got some company, 452," one of the officers spoke offhandedly. He took a key ring from his pocket and sifted through the various keys until he found the one that opened her cell door. The two of them haphazardly dropped the boy onto the grey cot on the other side of the cell and left, locking the door behind them.

It made no sense.

This was isolation. Solitary. Why would they put two soldiers in the same cell? It wasn't as if there was any shortage of room; there were seven other cells - empty cells - in this corridor alone.

The boy on the cot moaned, trying to sit up.

Max looked him over, surveying his injuries. His left eye was swollen shut, and his face was littered with ugly bruises. Both of his wrists were bloody, as though he had been chained down and had struggled greatly to free himself. Any other wounds were concealed by his Manticore fatigues.

He was around her age, but she guessed he would be a little taller than she was. He was clearly an X5, but she had never seen him before. Perhaps he was from another unit.

With another moan, the boy gave up on trying to sit. He wrapped his arms around his chest, curling into a ball on the cot, his back to her.

Tossing her confusion aside, Max approached him cautiously. She reached out and gently touched the back of his shoulder. He instinctively jerked away from her, hissing with pain from the sudden movement.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," Max whispered softly. She moved toward him again, placing her right hand more firmly on his shoulder. Turning her back, at least temporarily, on all those times she had been told emotion was a weakness, she slid her hand gently along his arm and twined her fingers in his, then climbed onto the cot behind him. She curled herself around him, stroking his close-shaven black hair with her left hand; comforting him.

He slowly relaxed, cuddling into her warmth. "Why did they . . ." he began to ask, his voice soft and quiet.

"I don't know," Max replied.

He squeezed her small hand gently in his slightly larger one. "What's your designation?"

"My name's Max," she whispered back, as if revealing some deep secret. She supposed she was. Her name was common knowledge to her unit, but the officers didn't like it when any of them assumed any kind of individuality.

In the silence that spanned between them, something let out an inhuman scream. But cuddled together as they were, the two of them weren't as afraid as they would have been alone.

"You didn't answer my question," the boy said.

Max frowned slightly behind his back. "I'd rather have a name than a designation."

The boy shook his head a little, and moaned slightly at the motion. "We're . . . unh . . . We're together in here. There's nobody else. When we're in here . . . we're a unit."

Max paused in the lazy circles she had been tracing in his hair. That was a new idea . . . it was weird. But the comfort she was giving him was something she had shared with her unit; her family. Back at the barracks, he was neither. But here . . . maybe he was right. Maybe it was different here. "What does that have to do with my name?"

"I don't have a name . . . soldiers in units are the same, aren't they?"

"We're not soldiers in here," Max reminded him. They may have been some new kind of unit, but they definitely did not behave like soldiers.

"That doesn't . . . doesn't matter."

"You could have a name too . . ."

"No . . . Max is a name you share with your other unit. Please?"

This conversation was alien to her. She had never had one like it in her life. It was about something so simple. . . . Had anyone else asked her what her designation was, she would have said it immediately. But it had become more than, 'what's your number.' She didn't know what this conversation was, but it wasn't just that.

Off her silence, the boy continued. "When other people say your designation . . . what do they sound like?"

"Well . . . the officers shout it . . . they sound mean and angry. My unit hardly says it when we're alone."

"But when they do?"

This was absurd. Why would she bother to pay attention to what people sounded like when they said her designation? She didn't understand where he was going; she didn't understand at all. But somehow it felt important that she answer.

"I guess . . ." She couldn't find the words. "Once, Zack asked our instructor what the word 'love' meant. Jondy had wanted to know, because she heard one of the nurses say it . . . something about it. The officer told him that love is meaningless and can only get in the way. He said it was . . . phony. That it was nothing that a soldier should ever think about, because it wasn't real. He said that love was a made up story that was used to gain advantage. When my unit says my designation, it's like that. Made up. Phony."

The boy began to nod, but stiffened and stopped. Why did he keep doing things like that if they hurt so much? Couldn't he just use words?

"When we say it . . . it won't be like that," he told her. "It won't be mean or phony. A designation can be a name, if you say it right."

Words were words. But 'Max' was a word . . . and it made her feel special. This kid was weird, but he was smart.

"My designation's X5-213," the boy whispered.

". . . X5-452."

It was the first time in her life that she didn't have to shout it.

**End Chapter 1**


	2. Traitors

_**Arcanum:**_

**Almost a Memory**

**by**

**Kel**

**Disclaimer:** I don't presume to own Dark Angel or any of it's characters. I gain no profit from this fiction, other than pride and joy and hopefully reviews. Oh yeah, X5-213 is mine. So are Doctor Marlowe and his assistants, but they're not as special. : P

**Chapter 2: Traitors**

* * *

He glanced at his watch. 2:05 pm. Almost four days since phase one of the experiment had begun. "Canning!" he called out. 

One of the four human soldiers that had been assigned to his aid entered his office. "Yes, Doctor Marlowe?" He stood in front of the desk which Dr. Marlowe sat behind.

"It's been long enough. You and your men bring them in."

Canning nodded and left.

Dr. Marlowe took a sip of his coffee and looked down at the two files that lay open on the desk. X5-452 and X5-213.

He rose and left the office. It was time to begin phase two.

* * *

"213, can I tell you something?" 452 asked, her voice low and soft. 

The two of them sat side by side on the cot in their cell, leaning back against the wall. 213's foot hung off the end of the cot, and he was swinging it rhythmically back and forth.

He turned his head briefly toward her, flashing her a grin. "Sounds like you probably can."

She smiled softly, staring into the space in front of her. "Do you promise you won't tell?"

"Of course." All humour was gone from his voice.

She became even quieter. "Zack says we should leave."

He lifted his foot onto the cot and turned to face her.. "Leave. As in . . . leave Manticore?"

She met his eyes. "Well . . . Some of my other unit think that it might be better . . . safer. Out there."

213 bit his lower lip for a moment, before nodding and averting his gaze. "What if it's not?"

452 thought about this for a moment. "I . . . I don't know."

He nodded again, thinking. After another moment, he looked back into her eyes. "If you go . . . you can't come back. No matter how bad it is. No matter what."

She was puzzled. "Why not?"

"Because, 452 . . . They won't like it. If you go, they'll chase you. If you come back, they'll punish you. Maybe even . . . terminate you." A tear slipped down his cheek. Emotion was acceptable between them. "Don't come back. No matter what."

She gently brushed the tear away with her thumb, and ran her hand over his hair. A tear spilled down her cheek as well, but she didn't break their shared gaze. "You know . . . you have cool eyes." She smiled. "But they're all wet."

"Promise me, 452."

"I'll try. I'll try my hardest."

"And . . . and 452?" His bottom lip trembled. "Don't forget me?"

She pulled away from him as if she had been shocked. Forget him? That would mean . . . "Come with us," she blurted. He had to go with them. How could she just leave him here? A good soldier never leaves a man behind. . . .

"You know I can't," 213 whispered. There was no way it could work.

452 let out a small sob. They weren't soldiers in here.

213 snapped his head up, hearing something in the distance. "Someone's coming."

_

* * *

_

_TRAITOR_

_A picture of a young girl with dark, closely-shaven hair flashed on the screen. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true._

_ENEMY_

_How was it even possible?_

_The picture appeared again. She wore military fatigues. Her dark eyes were cold. There was nothing in them. All traces of the warmth he had seen were gone._

_He had _trusted _her! She had been his family; his unit. She was the _only_ person he knew he could trust. He had shown her his weaknesses, and she had accepted him; even helped him! There was no way she could have done this, unless . . ._

_Unless it had all been a lie._

_Unless she wasn't his family. He was her target. He wasn't her brother, he wasn't her unit. He was a number. A statistic. He was her orders._

_INFILTRATOR_

_She had infiltrated his thoughts, his feelings. She had gotten to know him, gotten him to trust her, so she could betray him to the enemy. She _was_ the enemy._

_

* * *

_

_There he was, the traitor himself._

_He had found his way into her life, gained her trust. And now he was trying to take her out. She was his job._

_He had betrayed her in the worst way possible. She had trusted him like she trusted her _real_ unit._ _He had made her believe he was her family; her friend, just so he could find her weaknesses and use them against her._

_She raged inside. He was the enemy. She hated him. He was gunning for her, but she would take him out before he got the chance to hurt her any more._

* * *

On the other side of the two-way mirror, two children circled each other. Their movements were anger, their eyes were hellfire. 

They did not speak. Their hatred could not be channeled with mere words.

213 swung his fist. 452 took the hit full in the face and slammed to the floor.

She flipped herself back to her feet, and with a roar, she lunged at him.

Dr. Marlowe smiled. Everything was going just as planned.

Both of them were bruised, bloody, and panting harshly. Neither of them had spoken a word since the officers had arrived and removed them from their isolation cell.

213 ducked below her fist and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her. She pushed herself backwards, slamming him into the wall. She turned to attack, when he hit her in the stomach with a combat boot.

She let herself fall and swept his feet out from under him with her leg. The two of them leapt to their feet and came at each other again. She tried to punch him in the face, he blocked her. He tried to punch her in the gut, she blocked him.

213 connected with a hit to her cheek, and she spun away slightly.

452 backhanded him viciously across his temple, moving her whole body with the blow and sending him spinning into the wall behind him.

As spots danced in his vision, 213's fury melted into despair. "Why didn't you just kill me when they brought me in?" His voice was hoarse with unshed tears. He sunk to the floor and turned to face her. "Do you like hurting me?" he groaned.

He watched himself in the large mirror set into the wall opposite him, unable to meet her cold stare. His face was marred with cuts and bruises, but it was his eyes that struck him yet another painful blow. The hurt in their dark depths was unbearable to look at, and he averted his gaze to the floor.

452 took a step back from him, curling her lip in disgust. "I pitied you," she spat. "Wasn't that what you wanted? For me to think you were vulnerable while you plotted against me?"

"What are you talking about?" 213's eyes snapped up to 452, a liquid hot rage joining the pain. "I trusted you!"

"You've got a funny way of showing it, traitor."

"You're sick, do you know that?" he snapped.

"And you're weak. You can't even complete your own mission. I won't let you complete it."

213 frowned. "What mission?"

"Don't try to deny it, I know what you're doing," 452 hissed at him.

No. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening. 213 stared up at her. She thought . . . she thought he had betrayed her. "You didn't know there would be someone else, did you?" he whispered.

452 stared at him, and slowly shook her head. He could see the honesty in her eyes.

"Neither did I," he continued. Neither of them had known they would share a cell. They didn't have any idea. They hadn't even known they would ever meet, because neither of them knew anything of the other.

And they both thought the other had betrayed them. . . . When neither of them had.

That meant . . . it was all Manticore.

**End Chapter 2**


	3. Family

**_Arcanum:_**____

**Almost a Memory**__

**by**__

**Kel**__

__**Disclaimer:**__ I don't presume to own Dark Angel or any of it's characters. I gain no profit from this fiction, other than pride and joy and hopefully reviews. Oh yeah, X5-213 is mine.

__**Chapter 3: Family**__

_

* * *

_

This couldn't be happening.

__It hadn't even been a full hour since the two of them had been put together.

__They had been trained to believe that emotion was a weakness, and programmed to believe that each other were the enemy.

__He had spent _hours___ filling both of their heads with false data! He had convinced the two of them that the other had gotten close to them only so that they could find an opening and terminate them.

__The two of them had been furious. They had been _programmed___ to be furious. By all rights, they should have ripped each other's throats out the second they came within range.

__And instead, they were doing what? Talking? _Bonding?___

__"I didn't want to believe it," X5-452's whisper echoed through the comm system. The observation room had been equipped with full audio surveillance, just in case something like this did happen.

__They almost hadn't installed it. They had believed the likelihood of this taking place in the room had been about equal to the possibility of a mini-snowstorm in there.

__"Me neither," X5-213 whispered back. "I trusted you . . . I do trust you."

__"Separate them!" Doctor Marlowe hollered at Lieutenant Canning, his assistant. "Take them out of there, and get them down to Psy. Ops _now!___"

__Canning hesitated. "What do we tell them, sir?"

__Marlowe turned his gaze on the two unaware X5's. His icy glare could have frightened even them. "Eradicate this experiment from their memories. All of it."

__Canning nodded, and turned to the door. He paused when the doctor spoke again. "Oh, and Canning?"

__"Yes, sir?"

__"For god's sake, take them one at a time.'

__"Yes sir."

__As the door closed behind the officer, Marlowe let out a furious roar, fisting his hands in his hair.

__Trained to believe that emotion was a weakness.

Breaking the silence of the other room, 452 spoke. "I trust you too. We're a unit, right?"

Soldiers.

Weapons.

Automatons.

Damn fine job they had done.

___

* * *

_

"Where are you taking her?" 213 asked frantically, following on their heels.

__Just a moment ago, four Manticore officers had entered their cell and had begun to remove 452.

__They ignored him, and continued to lead her away.

__"452!" 213 called out.

__She stopped and turned toward him, forcing the officers to drag her a little. "452, you _will___ go with us, now!" one of the officers ordered.

__"Where are you taking her?" 213 repeated.

__Again, they ignored him.

__"Stop!" 213 yelled, and this surprised even him. He was the underling, here. They were his commanding officers. He never thought he would be giving an officer orders, but that was what he had done. "Let her go!"

__He grabbed the nearest officer by the arm, trying to pull him away.

__His grip was strong, and the human let go of 452. He swung and struck 213 in the face with a fist that was strong, for a human. It did the job, and 213 went down long enough for the four officers to shove 452 out the door and follow after her.

__213 sprang up from the floor in a liquid fast motion, but he was too late. The door slammed as he reached it, and the automatic lock clicked into place.

__At the same time, 452 threw off one of the officers and ran to the door. "213!" She rammed her shoulder into the steel, attempting to get to him.

__One of the officers came up behind her and struck her with a tazer. "No!" 213 shouted, pounding his fists into the door's reinforced glass window.

__There was nothing he could do.

__They took her.

___

* * *

_

She walked stiffly down the corridor, two officers slightly ahead of her and two slightly behind.

__Her memories had taken on a fragmented quality. There was something she was missing, she was sure of it. But that didn't really matter, did it? She had been taken away from her unit, and now she was going back.

__Why should she care how she had gotten here? She remembered being locked in an isolation cell. She remembered being taken from her family. The rest was gone, and here she was. Marching down the sterile corridors of Manticore. Whatever had happened was over.

__She was going home. The rest was trivial.

__The five of them slipped past doorway after doorway, nothing breaking the silence other than the steady beat of their boots on the floor.

__Until they passed a pair of doors that were close together. In between the two of them, a sign was posted on the wall. 'Behavioral Observation,' the sign read. The second door had a small window set into it. She could see that the walls inside the second room were white and bare, with a large mirror covering one of them.

__As she studied the room, a face appeared in the window. A dark haired boy stared at her, wide-eyed. She couldn't see the lower half of his face, because he was too short for it to be fully framed in the glass. A look of horror mixed with relief filled his dark eyes, and she faintly heard him calling to her through the door.

__"452!"

__Her look of simple curiosity morphed into contempt. She turned her head away from the boy and continued to follow the officers back to her barracks; back to her family.

__Her _name___ was Max.

__**End Chapter 3**__


	4. Numbers

_**Arcanum:**_

**Almost a Memory**

**by**

**Kel**

**Disclaimer:** I don't presume to own Dark Angel or any of it's characters. I gain no profit from this fiction, other than pride and joy and hopefully reviews. Oh yeah, X5-213 is mine.

**Chapter 4: Numbers**

* * *

He was empty. Hollow.

He had once thought that there was more to himself, but that was not the case now. If it had ever been.

Once upon a time, he had had this idea. It had occurred to him as he lay awake in bed one night. People were three-dimensional.

He had never voiced this thought to the other soldiers in his barracks, because he knew they wouldn't understand. Of course people were three-dimensional, they would think. We have height, length, depth, weight. We have layers; bones, muscles, veins, skin.

The other soldiers couldn't understand. To them, people were warm bodies. They were numbers. All a person was to them was something that could be observed in a lab. A person was a thing that reacted to stimuli. It was a variable, a target, or a soldier. No more, no less.

But they were wrong, he had thought. People had more layers than those soldiers knew. They had thought, they had voice, they had feeling. Sensation. They could act logically while thinking illogically. This he knew, because this he did everyday.

People marched in lines while dreaming of doing back flips.

That was how he had thought of it.

But now . . . he didn't dream anymore. He would just march.

He was a soldier. He was a number.

Because the only other person who had ever thought otherwise had changed her mind. Maybe she had actually had it changed for her, but that made no difference.

He had seen it in her eyes; he was flat. He was nothing. He wasn't her unit. He was a nameless face on the other side of a window. He was a statistic. A fact that was not important enough to even note.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since they had taken her away, and he didn't care. Eventually they came for him as well.

They took him in the direction they had first taken her. Where were they going? Who cared.

He did everything they wanted him to. He sat obediently their giant metal chair. He allowed them to strap him down. He watched the screen in front of him while they drilled their lazer through his eye, into his mind.

No struggle, no trouble.

He became aware that he was losing the details. The shape of her face, the sound of her voice. Their blows in the observation room. It all began to fade.

_Emotions are a weakness,_ they told him. He felt like rolling his eyes. Emotions were nothing.

_A soldier shows no emotion._ A number had no emotion to show.

_DUTY_

_DISCIPLINE_

_MISSION_

What else was there?

* * *

That evening, Doctor Marlowe stood in Colonel Lydecker's office, explaining his findings.

Lydecker's jaw was clenched tightly as he was informed of the X5 groups tendency to forge emotional attachments. He thought he had trained them better - he _had _trained them better.

"I believe it's necessary to separate the units and put emphasis on- "

The alarms sounded, cutting him off abruptly.

_"Colonel Lydecker!" _a voice crackled through the walkie talkie attached to Lydecker's belt.

He quickly unclipped it and raised it to his mouth. "What the hell's going on?" he barked back.

_"It's the X5's, sir! They're trying to escape!"_

**End.**

* * *

Well folks, there you have it. Hopefully you enjoyed this fic as much as I did. Do. Whatever. :) This story is one of the best pieces in the Arcanum series... well, I think maybe so far it is the best. I've never written a fic that was so much into Manticore, and I'd like to think that I've done pretty well.

The main point of this story was to show the readers what the characters themselves don't even know, the depth of the link between Max (452) and Rizzo (213). I originally envisioned and wrote this fic to precede the next story in the series and make that story seem more real and logical, but I think the fic I connected to the most was _Catalyst._

In _Catalyst, _we get a glimpse into Rizzo's head in which we learn how hard it is for him to cope with living on the outside. _Almost a Memory_ pretty much explains exactly why this is. Rizzo was always human, but when Max forgot this, so did he. The only person who had ever believed in him no longer did, so he lost sight of his own humanity, believing it had never existed. He was a number; always had been, always would be. Just after he came to 'realize' this, he underwent a mess of programming that clad the thought in iron.

When Max returned to Manticore in _Interloper_/AJBAC, she brought with her the almost-memory of Rizzo's true identity. She induced a reaction within him, in which his humanity resurfaced. However, from '09 through to the rest of his life, Rizzo has not believed that this humanity even existed. So the part of him that came to be when Max stopped believing him couldn't possibly do anything but reject this new/old information.

As is seen in _Catalyst, _there is a war going on inside Rizzo. And it is tearing him apart.

Thanks again to Sorrow, who made this fic possible, and two all my reviewers of the entire series as of so far -- you guys are the best. :)


End file.
